


How Hard Can It Be

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auto-fellatio seemed like a good idea at the time, but Yunho is more than pleased with the way things turn out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Hard Can It Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diagon/gifts).



> For diagon, _post hoc_ , and because Yunho’s dick deserves more bj fics than I’ve given it this year. Totally non-canonical, since I wrote this without being near the internet to check dates and so I mixed up the coconut incident (Saipan 2009) with when TVXQ were on Bora Bora (2005) crossed over with the MV for 'Sky' (2006).

“Okay,” says Yoochun, more than a hint of a whine in his voice, “ _now_ can we just go chill on the beach?”

The photographers and stylists have cleared off for the afternoon. Apparently it’s too hot and too bright to take photos at this time of day. They’ll be back for the sunset, but for now even the managers have decamped elsewhere, probably to the bar further along the beach, and the afternoon stretches out, long and leisurely.

“You go to the beach,” Yunho says. “I’m going to stay here.”

“Tired after a hard morning weaving coconut shells?” Junsu asks, smirking.

“It wasn’t coconut shells. It was the husks. The fibres.” Yunho peers over the side of the veranda in search of a discarded shell as reference, then he realises Junsu doesn’t actually give a fuck. 

“Whatever. Complete waste of time if you ask me,” Jaejoong says.

“No one asked you.” Changmin is on the far side of the veranda reading a book, stretched out on a rattan lounge seat. He turns a page without looking up. His mouth is set in a stubborn, sultry line.

Jaejoong rolls his eyes but makes no reply.

“It was a waste of time,” Yoochun agrees after a moment.

“I made a cup-holder.” Yunho keeps a sunny smile on his face, but he’s a little stung by their reactions. He knows he gets carried away sometimes. He knows if he gets an idea in his head he worries at it until it’s either achieved or erased. So what if he’d remembered that scene in a manga where the characters had woven the fibres of coconut husks together into a rope? So what if he’d wanted to demonstrate the principle on a smaller scale? He was proud of his cup-holder, even if it had taken him hours to make.

“Whoop-di-doo.” Yoochun jumps from one foot to the other. “We could’ve been playing Frisbee or checking out the babes on the beach and instead we had to sit around waiting for Robinson Crusoe to finish demonstrating his survival skills.”

Confusion creases Jaejoong’s brow. “What’s Robinson Crusoe?”

“Who cares?” Junsu bounces a football on the veranda then gives it a mighty kick. It sails through the air and vanishes into the scrub beneath the palm trees. “Let’s go to the beach already. Changmin, fetch the ball. Last one in the sea is a pussy!”

Without a word, Changmin closes his book and sets it on his seat, then gets up and goes in search of the football.

The other three race off, shouting and whooping. Yunho sighs and hops down from the veranda. From this angle he can see that Changmin is looking in the wrong place, the thin, whippy branches of the shrubs tearing at Changmin’s bright orange shirt and catching against the loose linen of his trousers.

“I can manage on my own.” Changmin pauses in his search and gives Yunho a glowering look.

“I know. But I like helping. Besides,” Yunho adds, waving at the bushes, “it went into these shrubs here and they’re spiky. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Changmin turns his attention to the thorny shrubs, then glances at Yunho in disbelief. “So you’ll get it for me and hurt yourself, is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I...” The words dry up and Yunho is tongue-tied. It happens sometimes when he’s around Changmin. Silly, really, because for the rest of the time they talk and talk and it’s the easiest thing in the world, and though Yunho trusts all the guys, he trusts Changmin the most, even though Changmin is the youngest, even though he’s only nineteen.

“Look here.” There’s a branch on the ground. Yunho picks it up. “I’ll use this stick. I’ll poke the ball free and you get it from the other side.”

Before Changmin can respond to this plan, Yunho hunkers down and lies flat on the dusty, sand-strewn earth beside the spiky shrub. He twists around, angles the branch, and prods at the ball. After a couple of tries, he knocks it free. Changmin grabs for it, then before Yunho can call out congratulations on their teamwork, Changmin drives the ball hard onto one of the thorns.

Yunho sits up, staring. The puncture is small but ragged. He can hear the air hissing as it escapes. Changmin’s mouth twists, his long hair falling into his face as he jams both hands into the sides of the ball and crushes it. The whisper of air becomes a wheeze, and the football collapses.

Changmin flicks back his head and tosses the ruined ball onto the thin patch of grass by the beach house. “Hey guys,” he says, voice flat and unemotional, “I got your ball back.”

“Changmin?” Yunho scrambles to his feet. “Changminnie, are you—”

“I’m fine.” Weariness and resignation sharpen Changmin’s features, but he gives Yunho a flashing look. “Really. It’s okay. It’s just sometimes... I hate the fact that they don’t see me.”

Yunho wants to deny it, but it’s true. “I see you,” he says instead.

That rouses the ghost of a smile. “I know you do.” Changmin sketches a brief wave and turns away, heading off into the woodland.

For a while Yunho stands there, tracing Changmin’s progress until he can no longer see the orange shirt through the trees. Then he bounds across the grass, kicks the deflated football towards the beach, and goes indoors to his bedroom.

He lies across the bed facedown. Above him, the ceiling fan turns in lazy circles. It’s on as high as it’ll go, and it still barely stirs the air. His nape prickles. Yunho rolls over and lifts his arms above his head. He’s conscious of his body, of the heat clinging to him and the smell of his sweat mixed in with cologne and dust.

Restlessness pounds at him. He’s not tired. He’s horny.

His thoughts melt and slide. Changmin’s expression haunts him. Maybe he should’ve gone after him, asked what was wrong. Not that Changmin ever admits when things trouble him. They’re alike in that respect; they just get on and deal with it, although Yunho does it with a smile on his face and Changmin does it with a slew of verbal lacerations.

Arousal tugs, an ache spreading through him. Yunho shoves a hand inside his tracksuit trousers, inside his underwear. He closes his hand over his cock and presses down. This is so not the time to be thinking of Changmin, but he can’t help it. He thinks of Changmin’s eyes. Those cheekbones. His hair, too long at the moment even though he says he likes it at that length. His neck. His awkwardness and grace, so contradictory, the way he flails with his hands and his fingers scrunch and his shoulders hunch and he tries to shrink in on himself, but at other times he’s so damn haughty and he glides around with his nose in the air, and then there’s his mouth, oh, his mouth...

Yunho is rock hard. His palm is daubed all over with wetness. He grips his cock tighter and stifles a groan. There’s no one around to hear him, so he does it again, moans loud and dirty and says the name he’s been keeping dammed up inside: _Changmin, Changmin_.

It shocks him to hear it spoken into the silence of the room. Yunho goes quiet again. He rolls onto his side and stares at the bed linen, still working the length of his dick; slower now, the pace thoughtful and measured.

He doesn’t want to get off with his hand. He wants a blowjob. Specifically he’d like a blowjob from Changmin, but that’s never going to happen. Maybe he can give himself a blowjob. Yoochun said guys in the States try it all the time. It’s not like Yunho hasn’t considered it before. After all, he has a dick and it’s pretty big from what he can tell, and he’s more flexible than a lot of guys, so yeah, he’s thought about it, of course he has, but...

The problem with thinking, Yunho finds, is that it often kills off the idea that first came to mind. If he’s going to do this, he has to do it now, because in five minutes—hell, in thirty seconds—he’s going to realise just how stupid this idea is and he’ll never do it, he’ll never know, and—

He huffs, then mutters, “Just do it, Jung. How hard can it be?”

There’s an art to this, he’s sure of it. First of all, get undressed. Or at least half undressed, and he takes off his trousers and his underwear and wrestles his t-shirt up over his midriff. His cock stares at him in a plaintive manner. He stares back. He’s going to do this no matter whether it approves or not.

Yunho squirms to the top of the bed and stuffs pillows beneath his head. He draws up his knees and rocks back and forth on his spine to warm up, then takes a breath and rolls up into a shoulder-stand.

The mattress is firm. Apart from a few creaks as the springs adjust, this is as good as performing the move on the floor. Yunho supports his lower back with his hands, holds the position for a heartbeat, then tips the balance by bringing his feet forward, toes pointed. He lowers his legs until they’re parallel with his upper body and his feet are over his head. Hands flat on the mattress now, he rocks in tiny increments, pushing with his hips until he catches at the slatted wooden headboard with his feet, and then he hooks his toes over the top and locks himself into position.

He breathes out. Breathes in.

His balls nestle together. His cock is only half hard now. Not even with the help of gravity is he going to be able to so much as lick the tip. Yunho tries to think sexy thoughts. It’s not working. He glares at his dick and wills it to obey him, then jolts his head up from the pillow and extends his tongue, curls it out and—

The door opens. Changmin stands on the threshold, sunlight all around him and an expression of utter bewildered shock on his face.

Well, this is awkward.

From a box marked _Use Only in Emergencies_ , Yunho summons a smile of utmost blazing innocence. “Hi! Changmin! Hello!”

Changmin blinks. He opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Then he comes into the room and lets the door fall closed behind him.

Yunho is dying. Dying of shame and humiliation and—just great—dying of want, because as soon as Changmin appeared, Yunho’s cock perked up no end. Of course it did. Because it has no sense of timing, none at all, and he’s in this really weird position with a massive hard-on, and if real life was anything like his rioting imagination, Changmin would lick his lips right now and slink over, all seductive, and he’d crawl across the bed and say, “Do you need some help with that?”

But his imagination is lame and real life is lamer, and instead of porn star Changmin he’s got sombre, perplexed, judging Changmin who looks at him and says, “What are you doing?”

For a brief moment Yunho thinks maybe Changmin really doesn’t know. Maybe he really is that sheltered and naive. Maybe he’ll believe it if Yunho tells him it’s some sort of posture-improving yoga position. Maybe—

“Yunho.” Changmin does that thing with his mouth, flattening his lips into a line and sort of curling them inward. Usually he does it because he’s frustrated or disapproving, but now it looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Yunho,” he says again, and yep, that’s laughter in his voice, one hundred percent it’s laughter, “are you trying to give yourself a blowjob?”

“Please don’t tell the others.”

Changmin’s eyes widen. He looks startled and a little bit offended. “I wouldn’t do that. Why would I do that?”

“Because.” Yunho gestures at himself, naked except for the t-shirt twisted just below his chest, his body curled and doubled over with his weight resting through his shoulders and upper back, his feet hooked over the headboard.

“I think you look hot.” A blush crawls across Changmin’s face as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Yunho isn’t sure what to do with that information. He tries for humour. “You like seeing your leader in embarrassing, compromising positions?”

The blush burns fiercer. Changmin ducks his head but doesn’t take his gaze from Yunho. “It’s not compromising. Someone else would have to be involved to make it properly compromising. This... this is just risqué.”

“But there is someone else involved,” Yunho says. “You’re here.”

Then he realises that maybe that sounded like an invitation. God, he should shut the fuck up before this can get any weirder. Maybe he should start by getting out of this position, because he’s fairly certain Changmin has the best-ever view of his ass, and the way he’s holding himself means Changmin can see all along the split between his buttocks, and fuck, what if Changmin can see his hole, that would be—it would be...

_Really fucking hot_ , his brain tells him, and his dick agrees. It shows its wholehearted approval by stiffening even more and starting to drool. Lust pulses, and Yunho clenches down on it. Every bit of him goes tight. Which just makes it all the more obvious that he’s turned on.

Oh God. Yunho flails inwardly. Thinking about Changmin looking at his ass has made him really, really hard. His life sucks. This honestly couldn’t get any worse. Or, well, it could—the others could come back and find them like this and take photos and...

Yunho stops his thoughts from galloping into madness. “I’m gonna,” he says, having no idea what he’s going to do. “Uh. I’m. I’ll...”

Changmin just looks at him, eyes still wide, lips slightly parted. Oh, that’s the wrong thing to focus on. He’s fairly sure Changmin’s mouth is what started this in the first place. Yunho wishes he could summon some sort of commanding tone so he could tell Changmin to fuck off out of the room, but instead he unhooks his toes from the headboard and uncurls from his hideously embarrassing position.

He does it too fast. His heels bounce on the mattress. They’re not the only thing that bounces. His cock slaps against his belly, hard and thick, and the noise it makes, flesh on flesh, is just so lewd and _filthy_.

“Oh,” Changmin says, and now he’s staring, now he licks his lips. “Um. Wow. I mean, you’re really big.”

So this just got more awkward, yes it did. Yunho isn’t sure what to say. “I guess. But you knew that already. I mean, you’ve seen us all before. In the showers and stuff.”

“Yes.” The word is slow and drawn-out, as if Changmin thinks Yunho is simple. He lifts his gaze from Yunho’s dick and looks at him properly. “But I’ve never seen it like this.”

Yunho thinks maybe now would be a good time to protect whatever is left of his modesty. He cups a hand over his cock.

Changmin’s lips twitch. “That’s not going to work.”

“Okay, I’ll just turn over, then.” Matching words to deed, Yunho rolls onto his front. The quilt is soft and smooth beneath him. His shoulders ache from holding position for so long. He wriggles them, the action sending little reactions through his body, and he instinctively pushes down with his hips. His cock rubs against the quilt, sparks of pleasure trailing up his spine. Oh fuck, he really has to get off soon.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this view,” Changmin says, voice low and amused, “but I think I preferred you on your back.”

It takes a good few seconds for Yunho to process this. Changmin is flirting with him. No, that’s not right. Flirting is sweet and innocent and this is aggressive and— _awkward_. And he’s making it more awkward by not responding, by randomly staring at Changmin like a numbskull, and in a minute Changmin will decide this was all a big mistake and he’ll go away, and Yunho doesn’t want that.

“Okay,” Yunho says, because he has nothing clever to offer, “okay,” and he rolls over again onto his back and strokes his hands down his front, framing his dick and his balls as he spreads his thighs.

Changmin stands frozen, his orange shirt falling off one shoulder and the tiniest patch of sunburn across his chest where his vest has dipped, and—oh, would you look at that—his cock is thrusting eagerly against his loose white drawstring trousers. Seems like Changmin was telling the truth about preferring this view. 

“Now what?” Changmin asks, and he looks nervous and excited both at once.

Yunho has no fucking clue. “Maybe,” he says, arousal twisting just at the thought of something simple and meaningless, “maybe we can get off together?”

“Oh.” Something close to disappointment skims through Changmin’s expression, and then his mouth moves around words that don’t seem to want to come out. “Would you. Should I. Do you...” He stops, his frustration evident.

“Whatever you want.” Yunho sits up. He throws his discarded clothes onto the floor and pats the space on the bed next to him. “Come here. Just...” 

Changmin shakes his head but he comes closer, circling around the bed, gaze fixed once again on Yunho’s cock. “I want. I want.”

It’s kind of obvious what he wants. Yunho wants it, too. He strokes his dick, feather-light, and shivers at the brush of pleasure. “You want this?”

“Yes.” The word is snatched away, dropping through the air as Changmin goes down onto his knees by the side of the bed. His gaze is burning. His mouth is sinful, soft and sweet and generous.

Yunho can’t believe he’s going to get it. He scrambles to the edge of the bed and touches Changmin’s shoulder, his neck, his cheek. He wants to say things like _Are you sure_ and _We don’t have to do this now_ , except it’s pretty obvious that Changmin is completely sure and yes, they have to do it right this instant.

Seems like he’s not the only one who can over-think things.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially not when it has a mouth as beautiful and ripe as Changmin’s. Yunho eases a little closer, aching with the need to have him, and asks, “Have you done this before?”

Changmin shakes his head. “No.” He worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment as if regretting the admission, and then his tongue peeps out and slicks over the tiny indentations in the plump, pillowy flesh. “How hard can it be?”

_Very hard_ , Yunho wants to say, a bubble of hysteria expanding inside him. He tamps down the urge to giggle. Changmin looks so serious there, kneeling on the floor as he studies Yunho’s cock, devouring every inch with his gaze before he puts out a hand and touches it.

Yunho makes a strangled noise. His cock jerks.

Changmin circles his fingers around its girth and strokes, up and down, up and down. “You’re not just big, you’re _huge_ ,” he says. “God, I can’t. It’s... Oh, I love the curve. It’s so different.”

Jealousy stabs Yunho. “Different to whose?”

Changmin gives him a droll look. “Different to mine, genius. I already told you I haven’t done this before. I haven’t jacked off with anyone, either, or given a handjob, or whatever else you were imagining.”

“My imagination is pretty one-track right now,” Yunho admits.

Changmin laughs as he settles lower on his knees. He pumps Yunho’s dick a few more times, easing out a glistening trail of pre-come, then runs a fingertip down the length of the shaft and spends a while fondling Yunho’s balls. “You’re kind of big everywhere down here,” he says, tone halfway between admiring and critical. “That means you’re grossly out of proportion, I hope you realise that.”

“I was never any good at art.”

“Nor me.” Changmin gives him a twinkling look then leans forward and snuffles at Yunho’s balls. He licks them, slow and sure, as if he needs to gather every last nuance of taste, and then he presses closer and rubs his face against Yunho’s cock and balls. He opens his mouth wide and moans, the sound hungry and utterly depraved.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Changmin gasps against him, “so fucking long,” and before Yunho can make sense of that confession, Changmin licks his lips again and sinks his mouth down around Yunho’s dick.

“Oh, _fuck_.” Yunho bucks forward, scooting right to the edge of the mattress and splaying his thighs as wide as they’ll go. His hips ramp forward and he tries to stuff as much of his cock into Changmin’s mouth as is physically possible. There’s a lot of cock for Changmin to take, but take it he does, down and down, and then Changmin relaxes his jaw and breathes really deeply through his nose, and ohhhh Jesus fucking Christ, Yunho is _down his throat_.

It doesn’t last long. Changmin’s throat closes up and he pulls back, coughing. He curves both hands around Yunho’s dick almost possessively as he turns his head and coughs some more.

“Baby, you don’t have to,” Yunho tries to reassure him.

Changmin leans his head on Yunho’s thigh and smiles. “Baby, I want to,” he says softly, and there’s a glint in his eyes, total determination, and Yunho braces himself because he knows that look, he knows Changmin.

“Come here,” Changmin murmurs, tilting his head so his hair tumbles across his face. It tickles Yunho’s dick, strands of it clinging to the wet shaft, and then Changmin kisses it, mouths all the way up, soaking the hard flesh and his hair with saliva. When he reaches the crown he tosses his head to flick back his hair, hums a little, then takes Yunho’s cock between his lips again.

Yunho strokes Changmin’s hair. It’s so long, so soft, curling at the ends where it’s wet. It feels incredible through his fingers. Almost as incredible as the heat and suction of Changmin’s mouth clamped around his dick.

It’s good. So fucking good. Yunho fists his hands into Changmin’s hair and holds on tight, thrusting into that hot, wet mouth. Changmin groans, the sound long and low and purring straight through Yunho’s dick, all the way back to his hole, up his spine and into his brain, and it does something to him, makes him say things like _Changminnie, your mouth, it’s perfect, you’re perfect, don’t stop, please don’t ever stop_.

Changmin sucks harder, then loosens his mouth and plays with Yunho, teasing, tormenting. Yanking at the drawstring on his trousers, Changmin gets his hand inside and finally succumbs to the temptation to beat off.

Yunho wants to collapse back across the bed and rut mindlessly into Changmin’s mouth forever. That’s not going to happen. He has to be considerate. Changmin is lost in his task, utterly focused in giving and receiving pleasure, so it falls to Yunho to be the better man.

“Changmin.” Yunho tries to back away, but Changmin wraps one arm around Yunho’s thigh and holds him in place, sucking him down and doing a little stroking tickle with his tongue.

“God, baby, please.” Lust grips, stripping them both and melding them together. It won’t be long now. Yunho fights against it. He doesn’t want to come in Changmin’s mouth. It’s Changmin’s first time; he can’t be so crass as to make him swallow. Maybe it’ll spill out instead, a stream of white from those perfect lips, dribbling down his chin and throat. Oh God, oh fuck. The thought of it makes Yunho lightheaded, makes him thrust faster, harder. He can’t, not to Changmin, he can’t do that—

“Changminnie, let me go,” Yunho begs. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come in your mouth. Don’t let me. Pull off.”

Changmin makes a muffled noise that sounds like a negative.

“No,” Yunho gasps, and orgasm trembles in his spine, pleasure rising in him. “Oh, Changminnie, no.”

It takes every ounce of effort he possesses, but Yunho drags himself free of Changmin’s mouth just as he begins to spurt. Changmin gasps after his cock, mouth stretched wide, lips swollen, saliva gleaming all down his chin. He opens his eyes. He looks furious to be robbed of his treat.

It’s the fury that does it.

“Oh baby,” Yunho groans, and comes in a flood all over Changmin’s face.

Changmin moans. He closes his eyes as Yunho paints him in come, dressing him up with pearly ribbons of seed. He turns his head this way and that, making the sexiest noises the whole time, little panting yips, his mouth open and his tongue reaching to taste the bounty he’s been given.

It’s the hottest thing Yunho has ever seen in his life.

When Yunho has emptied all over him, Changmin exhales. He opens his eyes again. He’s quivering. “You came on my face.”

“Yes.”

“And in my hair.”

Yunho feels a sudden moment of awful uncertainty. Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d done it in Changmin’s mouth after all. “I’m s—”

“You’re so _dirty_ ,” Changmin says, his gaze bright and fierce, and Yunho realises that Changmin is jacking off fast and urgent, bringing himself closer and closer as Yunho’s seed trickles down his face and stains his clothes.

“Yes,” Yunho says, and he smears his spunk into Changmin’s skin, rubbing it across his beautiful pouted lips. “Yeah, I’m dirty. I wanted to see it all over you. You’re gorgeous, Changminnie, you know that? So fucking gorgeous with my come all over your face.”

Changmin jerks and jerks, his eyes half-lidding and colour washing across his cheeks. He cries out, then bites his lower lip as he shudders through his climax.

It’s the second hottest thing Yunho has ever seen in his life. Or maybe it’s equal first. Either way, Yunho wants to see Changmin like this again. And again. And again, over and over.

Changmin rocks forward and presses his lips to Yunho’s belly. He whispers kisses over his skin, so soft they’re almost not there, and then he sits back, catches his breath, and wipes at his face. When he looks up at Yunho, his expression is both serious and playful.

“My first blowjob,” Changmin says, then kneels up, one hand going around the back of Yunho’s neck. He leans in, angling his head, offering his mouth. “Our first kiss.”

He tastes of the salt-bitterness of semen. It’s the sweetest kiss Yunho has ever had.


End file.
